Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head. Your family has not sullied itself by dabbling in it, at least not 173 from what I know, so now is not the time to begin. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. The wine was sweetened with cinnamon and cloves and rare edible flowers, which her father had instructed her not to drink excessively of. “Not for these things, O Ann Veronica, have you revolted,” it said; “and this is not your appropriate purpose.
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